


You Wanna Pizza Me?

by cravethatcinnaroll



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Keith can't cook, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rivalry, Swearing, pizza delivery au, which is why its rated teen, why is Lance like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cravethatcinnaroll/pseuds/cravethatcinnaroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when two bold, distinct flavors come in contact with each other? At first, they fight to overpower one another. Eventually, they balance each other out, reaching a silent agreement. Finally, despite--no, <i>because<i> of their differences, they combine to form an all-new taste; complementing each other perfectly.</i></i></p><p> </p><p>  <i></i><br/><i>-"Klance AU where one works at Domino's and the other works at Pizza Hut" via tumblr user bluexpaladin-</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Wanna Pizza Me?

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i couldnt resist

“Whoa, whoa whoa! Watch where you're going, dumbass!” came the loud, obnoxious yell, mere moments before the deafening screech of brakes grated at Keith’s ears. “Holy quiznak, man! You could've killed me!” the voice cried. Keith scoffed, blowing loose hair from his deep violet eyes, which flickered towards the source of the noise. His gaze swiftly shifted from indifferent to irritated after taking in the vehicle's hulking form.

 

“You would've been fine, since you're driving your mom's big-ass minivan and all,” he replied dryly. “But you’re in my way. Now move, I've got places to be.” With that, Keith gripped the handles of his cherry-red vespa, preparing to shove off once more.

 

However, this guy, whoever he was, did _not_ know how to let things go. As soon as he heard the car door swing open, Keith tensed. He held his breath as the stranger's lanky figure emerged, hoping to avoid unnecessary confrontation.

 

“Hey! I’ll have you know that ol’ Blue here is a certified pizza delivery car, one that you almost put out of commission with your dumb little party tricks! This is a _public intersection,_ for god's sake! Now is _not_ the time to be speeding up and showing off and putting yourself and everyone else in danger!” The brown-haired boy continued to ramble and rave as he approached, arms moving animatedly.

 

“How 'bout you mind your own business. And I've seen just how cautious _you_ are on the road. Every other day, I've seen you making your rounds and being a total airhead. You don't pay enough attention, and usually forget your turn signals. Last week, you almost ran _three_ stop lights on the _same damn day!_ So yeah, why don't you just ‘stay in your lane’, Mr.--” His eyes dropped down to read the crooked plastic name tag. “--Lance.”

 

Lance’s laughter reverberated deep in his chest, a crooked grin gracing his features. Keith nearly recoiled at the unexpected gesture. His sullen expression faded, replaced by one of genuine confusion. Noticing his befuddlement, the brunette’s mouth quirked in a softer, slyer smile. “Nice to know you were keeping such a close eye on me, Keith.”

 

It took a little while for the statement to set in. “Wha-what?! It isn't like that!” he spluttered. Much to his chagrin, Keith could feel his own body betraying him, face flushing pink with embarrassment. His pulse, like his voice, began to stutter uncontrollably in the other’s infuriating presence. God, he felt like a mess.

 

“It's kind of cute,” Lance continued, deliberately leaning in closer. “I didn't know you liked me that much.”

 

Keith’s eyes narrowed sharply as he snorted an incredulous “I don't even _know_ you!”

 

“Wow, that's harsh. Lance McClain? Your rival for life? We've had classes together for the past twelve years?”

 

Keith’s serious demeanor faltered until suddenly, everything (as far as Keith was concerned) came together. “Wait, were you the kid who started crying during that dodgeball game in eighth grade?”

 

It was Lance’s turn to blush. “Y-yeah, that was me.” His voice lowered considerably from its usual volume. “But you straight up _nailed_ me in the stomach, man! The hell’s wrong with you?!”

 

“Um...sorry about that? I guess I don't know my own strength...although that _was_ four years ago,” Keith deadpanned.

 

“Well, _obviously,_ there's a lot of things you don't know, _Keith!_ Liiiike...the difference between good and shitty pizza, apparently.” He pointed to Keith’s signature red jacket; a short, form-fitting thing emblazoned with the Pizza Hut logo. Keith shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“It's my workplace. Doesn't matter what the food tastes like. Besides, it's all the same to me.”

 

“Um, _excuse_ me?! Don't compare our quality pizza to your second-rate junk food! I mean sure, Domino’s pales in comparison to all the chic, swanky pizza joints they have back at Varadero Beach,” Lance paused, taking a moment to process the sudden pang of nostalgia before continuing, “but at least it's better than those greasy slices of _slop_ you people serve over there!”

Keith was utterly dumbfounded, his dark brows furrowed and mouth gaping comically at Lance’s _unbelievable_ stupidity. _How come this kid was still talking?_   “Why do you even care? You don't even _make_ the pizzas! You're a delivery boy like me!”

 

“I am _nothing_ like you, Keith. At least _I_ have enough self respect to maintain a decent haircut, you edgy little emo! Seems to me like those skinny jeans are so tight, they've cut off the circulation to your brain! Cooking is an _art,_ one that someone like _you_ could never understand!” Lance huffed, turning up his nose in dramatic disgust.

Keith’s jaw began to clench in aggravation. "Oh yeah? Guess that makes _you_ **_completely_** incompetent!” he snapped, voice growing strained and gruff. Well, _that_ seemed to hit nerve.

 

“You know what, pretty boy? Let's have a cooking contest! Sunday; my place at 7. I'll make you eat those words-- _and_ some delicious pizza.” Without waiting for a response, Lance began to rummage his pockets. Retrieving a chewed-up blue ballpoint, he quickly scribbled something down on a napkin, crumpled it up, and tossed it in Keith’s direction. If not for his razor-sharp reflexes, the paper would've hit him square in the forehead. Lance ambled carelessly into the van. “My number and address. Be there, or be square,” he called, sticking out his tongue.

 

“But I never even agreed...” Keith’s voice trailed off. The words died in his throat, drowned out by the incessant blaring of a horn as Lance sped away.

  
Sighing, Keith stopped to check the time. _Shit._ He was already fifteen minutes late; mere moments away from forfeiting a free pizza. For that, his boss would have his neck, and at the very least; a decent portion of his paycheck. This was all Lance’s fault. But although their strange little “meeting” had been nothing less than uncouth, something deep inside him predicted that all the trouble would soon be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feedback is appreciated  
> tumblr:cravethatcinnaroll


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